


fortune cookies

by oqua



Series: Family [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2015 Phan, Angst with a Happy Ending, Families of Choice, Family, Father's Day, Light Angst, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 02:23:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7556389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oqua/pseuds/oqua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan goes with Phil to celebrate Father's Day with the Lesters, and suddenly all his complicated feelings about his own parents come bubbling to the surface.</p><p>Basically 11k words of Dan being angsty and the Lesters being wonderful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fortune cookies

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in some vaguely alternate version of summer 2015.
> 
> I actually wrote most of this story in November/December of last year, then abandoned it for like seven months, only to revisit it a couple days ago and finally finish it lol.
> 
> Dedicated to [spider](https://twitter.com/spiderbants) <3
> 
>  _tw:_ mentions of food/eating, mentions of airplanes, general family-related angst and unhappiness
> 
> Russian translation by Irni_Mak available on [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9627158) and [Ficbook](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5222363)!

"Hey Dan?"

Dan minimises Wikipedia and glances up guiltily. "Sorry, I'll start editing the Sims thing now," he says quickly. It's currently Thursday, and he had, for some idiotic reason, promised that the next gaming video would be up "this week."

"Oh. Right. Good, yeah," Phil says, as though the Sims were the furthest thing from his mind. "Yeah, you should probably start that." He stands there in the doorway, fidgeting.

Dan squints at him, intrigued. It's quickly becoming obvious that Phil did not in fact come to hassle Dan about the gaming video. No, there's something else he came to say, something important, and he's afraid of how Dan will react. "Alright Phil, what do you want?" he demands.

"Oh. It's nothing. I just… er, looked at the calendar and saw Father's Day is coming up."

Whatever Dan had been expecting, it wasn't that. "Oh yeah, it's in June this year right?" he says, turning back to the computer and reopening the Wikipedia window.

"Well, it's always in June," Phil says.

"Really? Doesn't it change or whatever? Like Easter?"

"Yeah, er… It's always on the third Sunday in June. I think," says Phil. "Anyway, it's this Sunday."

"Cool. So you'll be going home then?" He says it like it's a question, but it's really not. Phil _always_ goes home for Father's Day. Just like he always goes home for Mother's Day, and for his birthday, and sometimes for no reason at all.

"Er, yeah. I was just on the phone with my mum, and I think I'm gonna leave on Sunday morning. Then, you know, get there in the afternoon." He stays there, still fidgeting, and Dan can tell there's more he wants to say. So he waits. "Er… you don't have any plans, do you?" Phil asks finally.

"What, for Father's Day? Oh, I dunno, I guess I was just planning to sit around all day. You know, eating. Playing Guild Wars. Feeling sorry for myself."

"Dan."

Dan twists around in his chair and raises an eyebrow. "I'm _joking_ , Phil. I'll be fine. Go and book your flight."

Phil nods but doesn't move. "Actually," he says, "I kind of wanted to ask you if you wanted to come with?"

Dan stares. "You want me to come with you to the Isle of Man? For Father's Day? Are you kidding?"

"Yeah! I mean, no. I mean…" He sighs. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"You want me to celebrate Father's Day with _your_ family?"

"Yeah, why not? Martyn will be there too," Phil says.

"Martyn's your brother; he's part of your family," Dan points out. "I am not."

"You might as well be," Phil says. "And I dunno, I feel bad just… leaving you here. And I thought… you know, since it's Father's Day, you might—"

He breaks off and shrugs.

But Dan can fill in the blanks pretty well. Phil feels sorry for him. Phil has a perfect happy tight-knit family, and Dan doesn't, and Phil thinks that if Dan doesn't want to spend Father's Day with his _own_ father, he might as well spend it with _a_ father, because otherwise he'll just sit around being sad. Or something along those lines.

Dan twists back around in his chair to face the computer, and absently scrolls to the top of the Wikipedia page. "I've got my own family, Phil," he says tersely after a moment. "I'm not a stray puppy."

"Dan…"

"What?" snaps Dan. "I've got great parents, okay? I don't need yours."

"Dan, I _know_. I've met your parents. They were really nice. I know that."

"Good," says Dan. He stares at the computer screen, thinking. It's true, he tells himself. His parents _are_ really nice. They have a good sense of humour. They're open-minded. They're cool. They are. His parents are really cool people.

And yet....

"You don't have to, like, make a big deal over it," Phil says, his voice almost pleading. "I thought it might be fun, is all. To have you there. Can you just… think about it?"

"Yeah," says Dan. "I'll think about it."

 

*

 

It's Friday evening, and Dan is still thinking about it. Or rather, still avoiding thinking about it. He's also avoiding the gaming video. And he's choosing not to acknowledge the fact that he can tell, from the way Phil keeps opening and closing his mouth at random times, and throwing him uncertain glances, that Phil is dying to ask if he's come to a decision.

They've just finished the Chinese takeout they got for dinner, and Dan is rummaging around in the plastic bag for the fortune cookies. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Phil doing the open-mouth-uncertain-glance thing, which he ignores. He finds the cookies and lobs one to Phil, who catches it, looking startled.

"Ready?" asks Dan, holding up his own cookie. They've got a sort of running competition going over who gets the best fortunes, although neither of them is actually keeping score.

"Yeah," says Phil, "but Dan, could we first just—"

"Open on three, okay?" Dan says in a rush, before Phil can mention Father's Day.

Phil breaks off with an impatient huff. "Dan..." he says warningly, like he's finally run out of patience, but then their eyes meet and his face softens somewhat. "Okay," he murmurs finally. "Later's okay too."

And Dan nods. Later. Later is always best. "Fortunes?" he prompts.

Phil grins. "May the best fortune win!" he says, as always. "One… two… three!"

They both tear off their wrappers and crack open their cookies.

"' _You will have a bushel of gold if you persevere_ ,'" Phil reads aloud. "How exciting."

"Oooh, a whole bushel? You win, I reckon. Mine just says, ' _The thing you are hesitating on would be good for you. You should do it_.'" He sets down the paper, not quite meeting Phil's eye. "So I guess that means I'd better finish that Sims video, huh?"

"Mm. I'm not entirely sure that's what the fortune cookie gods are referring to, actually," says Phil. He pokes Dan's shoulder.

"Phil, I told you I'd think about it."

"Yeah, and have you?"

"Sort of."

Phil holds up the fortune and dances it in front of Dan's nose. "The fortune cookie gods want you to come," he singsongs.

"Wow, I had no idea they were such pervs," says Dan, snatching the fortune out of his hand. Phil just rolls his eyes.

Dan sighs. And rereads the fortune. And sighs again. "Are you _sure_ it won't be awkward?"

"I'm sure."

"And you're sure your parents are okay with it?"

"Dan, yes, I'm sure. I've talked to them."

 _The thing you are hesitating on would be good for you. You should do it_.

"Fine," Dan says at last. "I'll go. But only if you let me eat _your_ cookie too."

"You can have my cookie, but not my bushel," Phil says, holding out the cookie.

"Is that a euphemism?"

Phil just laughs.

 

*

 

It's quarter to midnight on Saturday, and Dan is in bed next to Phil. They turned in early, since they have to be at the airport at like 8am tomorrow. Phil is fast asleep. Dan is not.

He did upload the Sims video, finally, earlier in the afternoon. And he's packed his bags. He's basically all ready for tomorrow.

Except… he's not. He lies there a few more minutes before slipping out of bed and into the lounge. He opens his laptop. It's five minutes till Father's Day, and he still hasn't got anything for his dad.

He spends quite a while sitting there, agonising about what to get. In the end he decides on a £200 Amazon gift voucher, the kind you can send via email. Which is basically the lamest sort of gift on the planet, but whatever.

There are special Father's Day designs to choose from. Oh joy. He eventually picks one that features the word "DAD" in yellow, green, and pink letters. It's boring as fuck, but all the other options either seem ridiculously sappy or feature the phrase "#1 Dad."

He types his own name in the "from" spot and his dad's email address in the "recipient" spot. Easy enough. But then there's space for an optional message of 500 characters max. For a fraction of a second, he considers not writing anything. Then he sighs and types, "happy father's day" — no capitalisation, no punctuation.

_482 characters remaining._ It feels like an accusation.

He considers for a moment, then adds, "hope you have a great day. - dan".

_448 characters remaining._

Eh, good enough. Who the fuck has 500 characters' worth of mush to tell their dad on Father's Day, anyway?

 _Phil probably does_ , he thinks, before he can help himself. The thought makes him feel like shit, like maybe his message isn't good enough after all. Like maybe _he's_ not good enough. He stares at the screen for a long time, unable to come up with anything else to write but unwilling to send the message as-is. In the end, he decides to change both full stops to exclamation marks and to add the proper capitalisation.

There.

It seems perhaps excessively enthusiastic, but holidays are supposed to be about enthusiasm, right? Besides, Dan's dad doesn't know anything about his usual lower-case-no-punctuation aesthetic, so hopefully it won't come across as too out-of-character to him.

Dan takes a deep breath and, as it's technically Father's Day already, he sends it.

Then he goes back to bed.

It's another few hours before he actually falls asleep.

 

*

 

Dan wakes up in a bad mood.

It's early. It's cold. It's Father's Day. He doesn't feel like getting out of bed.

And he doesn't feel like eating breakfast.

And he doesn't feel like talking to the taxi driver.

To be honest, he doesn't even really feel like talking to Phil.

"Dan, are you alright?" Phil asks, as they stand in the airport security queue.

"I'm fine," says Dan. "I'm tired." Which is true. He got like three hours of sleep last night and he's really fucking tired.

Phil frowns, but lets it go.

They make it through security. Phil insists that Dan eat something, since he skipped breakfast, so they find a Starbucks in the airport. Dan gets a muffin and Phil gets a croissant. They eat in silence. Dan doesn't like the muffin, and throws it away half-eaten. He isn't hungry anyway.

On the way to their gate, they meet two subscribers and pose for pictures with them. The girls say something about being sisters and Phil laughs; Dan isn't really paying attention. But he hugs them both, and if his hugs are a bit more halfhearted than normal, Phil's hugs are warm enough to make up for it.

"Can you believe they weren't related at all?" Phil says as the girls prance away. "They looked like twins!"

Oh, so they _weren't_ sisters? "I dunno," Dan says. "I didn't really notice what they looked like."

Phil peers at him. "Dan, seriously, are you okay?"

"I told you, I'm tired." They reach their gate and sit down by the window.

"Yeah. I know,” Phil says. “But like... you're okay with _this_ , right? With going to my parents'?"

"Yes," Dan says, perhaps a bit defensively. "Why wouldn't I be?"

It's not really a fair question to ask Phil, and Dan knows that. But he's in a shitty mood, so he doesn't particularly care.

"I don't know," Phil says quietly. "Lots of reasons? Maybe?" He pauses. "Dan, it'll be fine, though, alright? It'll be nice. I promise."

"Yeah," says Dan, because it _will_ be nice. Of course it will be nice spending Father's Day with the Lesters.

Nicer than being alone, anyway.

And nicer than being with his own family.

But no, he told himself he wouldn't think about his own family today. He promised himself. So he hugs his backpack to his chest like it's a fucking stuffed animal or something and tries not to think about them, but it's useless, because he already _is_ thinking about them, and he's been thinking about them all fucking morning, and feeling sad and shitty and wondering what they're doing tonight and whether they'll care that he's not with them and whether they even—

"Dan, it's alright," Phil says. Gently, he wrests the backpack from Dan's grip and repositions it so that it's sitting between them, shielding their hands from view. Then he curls his fingers under Dan's palm and squeezes. "It's okay. All this family stuff. It doesn't have to be a big deal."

And Dan nods, even though it _is_ a big deal, and they both know it.

"Phil, I'm fine, really," he hisses after a moment. "You can let go of my hand now."

Phil doesn't let go. Dan is glad.

 

*

 

They finally board the plane. As they wait for departure, Phil tweets something about going to visit his family. He doesn't say anything about Dan, but soon enough that photo they just took will be posted on Twitter and it'll be obvious that Dan is with him. Most likely, everyone will lose their minds over how sweet and romantic it is that Dan is spending Father's Day with Phil's family. Dan and Phil will talk about it in their liveshows this week and avoid drawing undue attention to the coupley implications of such a trip. The usual.

Their plane takes off. Phil falls asleep almost immediately. Dan pulls down the tray from the seat in front of him, and buries his head in his arms. He stays like that for a long time, thinking depressing things.

Halfway into the flight, he nudges Phil awake, then instantly regrets it.

"Hmm? What happened?" Phil grumbles.

"Nothing," says Dan. "I dunno. Sorry."

Phil squints at him blearily. "I was having a really good dream…" he says, as his eyelids start to flutter shut again.

Dan debates just letting him go back to sleep. But then he says, "Phil, wait. I was just— I mean— they do know I'm coming, right?"

Phil opens his eyes and blinks a few times. "Huh?"

"Your parents. They know I'm coming, don't they?" Dan repeats.

"What? Yeah, of course they do," says Phil, frowning slightly. "I told you I talked to them about it, right? They're excited to see you, remember?"

"Yeah. But—" Dan breaks off. _But I'm afraid that maybe they secretly resent me for being a needy pain in the arse and crashing their private Father's Day celebration, and they're just too polite to mention it_ , he doesn't say. Instead, he stalls for awhile, then mumbles, "I dunno. It's just a bit… a bit weird, isn't it?"

"What's weird?" Phil asks, sitting up straighter and rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes. "Dan?" he prompts, when Dan doesn't answer immediately.

Dan shrugs. "I don't have a card for your dad," he says lamely. It's the first thing that pops into his head.

Phil tilts his head to one side. He looks almost amused. "That's not weird though. He isn't _your_ dad. Imagine if we had to buy every father on earth a card on Father's Day. That would be, what, like a billion cards?"

"More than that, probably."

Phil laughs. "Exactly. We'd all go broke. Dan, seriously,” he goes on, his voice a bit more earnest, “don't worry. You're under absolutely no obligation to buy _my_ dad a card."

"Yeah," Dan says darkly. "Only, I didn't get one for my own dad either, so…"

This seems to bring Phil up short, but only for a moment. "Well… that's okay," he says slowly. "You still have time, right?"

"I also didn't get one for my mum."

"You didn't get your mum a card for Father's Day?" Phil asks with a hesitant smile.

Dan doesn't smile back. Phil notices. He lifts his hand like he's about to caress Dan's hair or face or something, but Dan moves back almost imperceptibly. They're in public. So Phil lowers his hand, and it comes to rest gently — but very intentionally — on Dan's thigh. "How about you just get them both a card at the same time?" he suggests.

"They don't have Mother's Day cards in shops anymore."

"You could make one."

"No I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm a shit son."

Dan feels Phil's hand flinch and he knows that it's taking all of Phil's self-restraint to keep from wrapping his arms around him right there in the middle of the plane.

"No, you're not," Phil says firmly. "Dan, you're not a shit son. Okay?"

Dan nods because that's easier than arguing. Phil squeezes his thigh.

"I think I'm just gonna try to sleep," says Dan.

"Okay," Phil murmurs.

Dan turns his face away from Phil.

He doesn't sleep.

 

*

 

The Lesters are waiting for them at the airport when they arrive, which strikes Dan as equal parts sweet and unnecessary.

Phil hurries over to them, waving. "Happy Father's Day!" he exclaims, and he hugs Mr Lester. Then he hugs Martyn. Then he hugs Mrs Lester.

Dan stands awkwardly a couple feet away from them all, and despite his best intentions, makes inadvertent eye contact with Martyn.

"What up Dan?" says Martyn. "Long time no see!" He holds up a hand expectantly, and Dan steps forward to give him a high five, but before he can react the high five turns into a hug, and then Mrs Lester hugs him too and touches his cheek and says it's so good to see him again, and then Mr Lester gives him something somewhere between a hug and a clap on the back, and god they're all so nice that Dan sort of tears up a bit, but nobody notices, so it's okay.

 

*

 

When they get to the Lesters' house it's still fairly early in the afternoon. Mrs Lester makes them lunch, and then they all go out for ice cream, and walk around town window shopping. They get back to the house at 5pm, which gives everyone about an hour to relax and freshen up before they have to leave for dinner.

Phil's parents and Martyn disappear into their own corners of the house, and Dan and Phil head to the lounge. They sit down side by side on the sofa, and Phil pulls out his laptop and Dan pulls out his phone, and it feels comfortable and familiar, almost like it's just another evening together at home.

Only, they're not at home, and it's not just another evening.

No, he's with the Lesters, and they're going out to dinner soon. Because it's Father's Day. And Dan hasn't talked to his dad yet. And he doesn't particularly _want_ to talk to his dad. But maybe he kind of does. And also he knows that he should.

Eventually Phil gets up to go to the bathroom, and Dan decides it's now or never.

So he slinks upstairs and finds the guest room that he's going to be sharing with Phil tonight. He stands in the doorway for a few moments, steeling himself. Then he shuts the door behind him, sits down on the edge of the bed, and rings his dad.

The beginning of the the call is awkward as hell, a stilted exchange of hellos and how are yous. _Good_ , they both say, _fine_ , _great_ , _yeah_ , _yes_. "Happy Father's Day," Dan adds quickly, before he can chicken out. His dad thanks him. He sounds pleased, warm, fatherly. Dan feels a bit better after that, and they go on to talk about a variety of stupid topics, like the stupid Amazon gift voucher and new TV shows and the weather. It's going as well as can be expected.

Then his dad asks, "So, what have you been up to today?" and Dan can feel his stomach lurch with sudden guilt.

"Oh. I dunno. Nothing really. Me and Phil are just at home, hanging out," he lies. His voice sounds weird. "We got pizza."

His dad doesn't say anything right away and for a moment Dan panics, because fuck, Phil tweeted about going to visit his family, didn't he? And then there was that picture with those girls…

But then his dad says, "That's nice,” and Dan remembers that his dad doesn't know anything about Twitter, or anything about anything that Dan does, really.

His stomach unclenches. "Yeah," he says, sighing in relief, "Yeah, we've just been, like, relaxing and stuff. You know."

"Relaxing," his dad repeats. There are a few seconds of total silence. Then: "You spend a lot of time relaxing, don't you?" he says lightly.

Dan frowns and bites on his lip and feels his stomach start to churn again. _Why?_ he wants to scream. _I just wanted to be nice and wish you a happy Father's Day because you're my dad and I love you and why the hell do you always say things like that to me why why WHY?_

He doesn't actually scream that, of course. Instead he takes a deep breath and says, "Yeah. I do." He says it calmly, evenly. The way a mature adult would say it. The way Phil would say it. "And that's _fine_ ," he goes on, "because I _also_ spend a lot of time working my arse off, so it all balances out." Then he kind of laughs, as if it's a joke.

His father is not amused, apparently. "Right," he says. The word is sharp. Sarcastic.

"You have a problem with how I spend my time?" Dan asks, not quite as calmly and evenly as before.

"I didn't say that."

"Of course you didn't."

They're both silent for a minute.

And then suddenly they're arguing, and it's just like it was back when Dan lived at home, back when Dan was applying to Uni, back when Dan moved up north, back when Dan dropped out…

The ceiling of the guest room is too white, and his cell phone feels like lava against his cheek. Dan is yelling things, mean things, things he's kept bottled up for far too long.

His father is not yelling. His father never yells, but it makes no difference, because his voice is hard and dripping with disapproval, and Dan can tell how angry he is, and that's all that matters.

There's so much Dan wants his dad to understand, so much he wants to explain rationally and coherently. But instead, he just shouts the first thing that comes into his head, and then his dad says something back, in such a goddam patronising voice, and Dan's only half-listening, actually, but he hears enough, more than enough, and soon he's yelling something else and his father cuts him off again and and and—

Dan's hands are shaking and he feels like shit, just like he always feels when he fights with his parents. Except maybe this time is worse, somehow. Because this time Dan is an adult and he has a job and a flat and a book deal and five million subscribers and Phil. He's not a stupid kid anymore. He's not a clueless teenager anymore. He doesn't deserve this.

"Okay, you know what, that's it, Dad," he says abruptly. "We're not gonna argue about this anymore, okay?"

"I'm not 'arguing,' Dan. I'm just talking. You're the one who's screaming at me."

" _Please_?" Dan tries again, more softly. It comes out like a whimper. "Can we _please_ just stop talking about this?"

But his dad just snorts and continues brusquely. "Dan, I'm your father," he says. Yeah, no shit. "And if I have advice for you, it's my job to tell you. I care about you. It frustrates me to see you wasting your potential."

That's what he _actually_ says.

What Dan _hears_ is something more like, _You're a lazy fuck-up and you're not doing anything worthwhile with your life._

And suddenly Dan kind of feels like crying and there's no fucking way he's going to cry in front of his dad.

He hangs up without saying goodbye, and flops back on the bed.

 

*

 

Within thirty seconds, there's a knock at the door, and a voice from the hallway. "Dan?"

It's Phil.

"Yeah, come in," he says, sitting up.

Phil enters and glances around warily, like he thinks there might be a monster in the room. Finally his gaze settles on Dan. "You okay?"

"Fine." Dan looks him right in the eye, because it's true. He is fine.

"I heard, like, arguing, or something."

Dan shrugs.

"Were you on the phone?"

"No, Phil, I was arguing with myself. I'm actually schizophrenic; did I never tell you that?"

Phil gives him a look. Dan holds out for a few moments, then lowers his eyes. "I called my dad," he admits.

Phil just nods.

"Did you hear? Like, what I was saying?"

"Kind of. No. Just some stuff about YouTube." He hesitates. "You sounded— just, pretty upset."

"Yeah, well." Dan doesn't look up. He also doesn't ask Phil to come sit by him, even though he wants to. Phil comes over and sits next to him anyway, because he's psychic or something.

They stay there for awhile, seated in silence on the edge of the bed. Phil doesn't pry. Dan rests his head on Phil's shoulder.

"He thinks I should be _doing_ more," he says finally. "With my life. Apparently I relax too much, whatever the fuck that means."

Dan can feel Phil shift slightly.

"He'd get along well with my viewers, huh?" Dan adds bitterly. "They're always complaining about the lack of content or whatever."

"Aw, don't say that. With them… I mean, they just really love your videos, Dan. Of course they want more. They don't, like… you know."

"What, they don't say I have no work ethic and lack the self-motivation realistically required by the kind of job I have, so I'm doomed to fail sooner or later and then I'll wish I had a degree?"

"He said that?"

"No. Well, sort of. I dunno. He's said stuff like that before." Dan sighs. "And my mum."

"Don't listen to them."

"They're my parents, Phil. I kind of have to listen to them."

"Not when they say stuff like that," Phil asserts, like it's the simplest thing in the world.

They're both silent for a few minutes. Then Phil clears his throat. "So," he says, "Er, do you still feel up for dinner? We're leaving for the restaurant soon."

"Phil, you're seriously asking if I'm still up for free dinner at an extremely expensive restaurant? Of course I am."

"Okay, good," laughs Phil. He moves like he's about to stand up, but suddenly Dan grabs his wrist and tells him to wait.

Phil sits back down, peering at Dan in concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I just…" Dan buries his face in Phil's shoulder. "Did they hear me on the phone?"

"Hmm?"

"Your parents and Martyn. Did they hear me. On the phone," Dan repeats.

Phil doesn't answer.

"Phil…" Dan whimpers into the cloth of Phil's t-shirt.

"No, it's okay," says Phil. "Dan, it's fine. They were downstairs; all they heard was shouting, not the words or anything, okay? I mean, people get angry on the phone all the time. For all they know you were… I dunno, calling up a... plumber."

"A plumber?"

"Or like… the bank or something."

"They're gonna ask me about it," Dan says, his face still pressed against Phil's shoulder.

"No, they aren't. I swear. I know my parents, okay? They aren't gonna mention it."

Dan sighs, and lifts his head. Phil stands up and extends a hand, which Dan takes.

"If they ask, I'm gonna say it was a plumber," he says as he hoists himself off the bed.

"Fair enough," says Phil.

"And you'd better support me. You'd better join in and say we've been having plumbing issues."

Phil laughs. "I will, don't worry. I will support you 100%."

And Dan knows it's true.

 

*

 

The restaurant is fancy, but it's the nice kind of fancy, not the intimidating kind.

A pretty blonde hostess leads them to their booth. Mr Lester slides in first, and then Phil and Martyn sit down on either side of him, and then Mrs Lester sits next to Martyn and Dan sits next to Phil.

The hostess wishes them a happy Father's Day and asks if they want a family photo. Around the table, there is a chorus of enthusiastic responses. Mrs Lester digs out her phone and hands it to the hostess.

Dan just glances around, panicking, because she said a family photo. And he's not family. And he knows he should get up, go, leave, but Phil has already thrown an arm around his shoulder, and the hostess is already holding up the phone and telling them to lean in and smile, and he has no idea what to do. So he sits there, frozen.

The waitress sighs and lowers the phone. "Come on love, smile," she tells Dan, sounding annoyed. All the Lesters turn to look at him, and Dan inches down slightly in the booth, wishing he could disappear from the face of the earth.

"Dan, darling, it's alright," says Mrs Lester gently. "Squeeze in toward Phil." He glances around at the rest of them, and no one seems to object. So he scoots toward Phil, and grins for the photo, because what else is he supposed to do? The waitress takes three pictures, and hands the phone back to Mrs Lester, who pronounces the photos "perfect."

"What an attractive family I have," she proclaims as she puts away her phone, and Dan can't help but smile.

 

*

 

The evening is, for the most part, mercifully devoid of awkwardness or unhappiness. The Lesters are all in great spirits. The food is very good. No one asks Dan any prying questions about the future or his life choices. And Phil was right, no one asks about his phone call either.

Halfway through the meal, Dan's receives four texts in rapid succession. He sighs, and checks his phone as discretely as possible. It's his younger brother, Adrian.

__

_**From: Adrian** _

Dad's angry at you.

Did you seriously call him on father's day just to yell at him?

Wow

Real classy

 

_**From: Dan** _

not what happened  

mind your own business

 

Then, a few minutes later:

 

_**From: Dan** _

how angry is he  

 

_**From: Adrian** _

Sorry I can't tell you I'm supposed to mind my own business :)

 

_**From: Dan** _

adrian stop

i'm serious

 

_**From: Adrian** _

God you have no sense of humour

Er but yeah idk he talked to mum I didn't really hear the details.

Sorry.

I guess maybe he's not angry exactly just really done with your shit

Like sort of generally annoyed by your existence? idk

 

_**From: Dan** _

great

 

_**From: Adrian** _

No offence but it's your own fault

I mean you always do this with them

Tbh I think you secretly get off on it

 

_**From: Dan** _

fuck you

 

**_From: Adrian_ **

:P

 

Dan stuffs the phone back into his pocket and stares at the table for a few moments, fuming. Then he picks up his fork and begins to stab half-heartedly at his potato.

Phil elbows him. He doesn't look up. Phil nudges his shoulder. He still doesn't look up. His phone buzzes, and he pulls it back out of his pocket.

 

**_From: Phil_ **

Hey

 

Dan looks up at him briefly, then sets his phone down in his lap and continues to prod at his potato.

His phone buzzes again.

 

**_From: Phil_ **

Did something happen?

 

**_From: Dan_ **

no it's nothing

idk

adrian just told me my dad is annoyed by my existence or something lol

which was rly nice to hear

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Phil read the texts and glance over in concern. Before he can respond, Dan texts him again.

 

_**From: Dan** _

it's fine dw i'll get over it

 

_**From: Phil** _

We'll talk later okay? If you want to <3

 

Dan nods down at his phone and puts it back in his pocket. He won't want to, but he appreciates the sentiment.

 

*

 

They finish dinner, and dessert, and then Mrs Lester pulls out a large bag and announces that it's time for cards and gifts.

Mr Lester opens his cards from Phil and Martyn and Mrs Lester, and reads them to himself, after which he hugs each of them in turn. Then he opens his gifts: A pair of socks, a copy of _The Old Man and the Sea_ , a ceramic hippopotamus, and a ladle.

Apparently, each of these objects relates to some family inside joke or something, and the Lesters try valiantly to explain to Dan what exactly makes each one so funny, but pretty soon they're all doubled over in laughter, and nothing they said made much sense to Dan anyway.

But he finds himself laughing along, and somehow, he doesn't feel left out. He feels like part of the family.

 

*

 

Later that night, as they get into bed, Phil asks Dan if he's alright. Dan tells him yes, of course. And it's mostly true.

“But do you want to, like, talk?” Phil asks uncertainly. “About Adrian? Or about anything?”

Dan tells him no, and Phil doesn't press the matter. Soon, Phil falls asleep.

Dan sits beside him in bed, hunched up against the pillow, looking at his phone. He checks Twitter. He checks Tumblr. He catches up on random news articles online. He finishes the Wikipedia article about the Bayeux Tapestry that he started reading a few days ago. He moves onto an article about William the Conqueror, and finishes that too. Then he goes back to Twitter.

At 1am, Adrian texts him again.

 

_**From: Adrian** _

Hey Dan I was just joking earlier.

About the getting off on it thing

 

Dan rolls his eyes.

 

_**From: Dan** _

wow omg you were joking????!?! i had no idea. i thought you actually believed that i become sexually aroused probably to the point of orgasm by the idea of mum and dad hating me.

because that makes total sense and it's not like you ever walked in on me crying bc of some fight i'd had with them

except wait that actually happened like three times

 

_**From: Adrian** _

Yeah idk sorry :/

But I mean you did know I was joking right?

Sorry

I never said they hate you

 

_**From: Dan** _

go to bed adrian

 

_**From: Adrian** _

Wait Dan are you ok

 

_**From: Dan** _

i'm fine.

 

Fifteen minutes pass, and Adrian hasn't responded. Not that Dan expected him to. Or even wanted him to.

All the same, there is some sad, lonely, sleep-deprived part of Dan that kind of wants to text Adrian again, saying: _no, wait, actually i'm not, i'm not fine, tell dad i'm sorry, tell them both that i'm sorry, and what did you guys do for father's day anyway, and did you get dad a card, and did you get him a gift, and what exactly did he say about me, because i didn't mean to yell at him i swear, but idk sometimes i can't help it, and did you know that when you were a baby i used to go sleep in your room after having a nightmare because mum and dad told me not to wake them up unless it was really important, and do you remember that time when mum shouted at you for spilling milk on the fucking carpet and i went and sat with you outside and we talked about pokemon, because sometimes i think about that stuff, but i didn't call dad to yell at him, i didn't want to yell at him, i only wanted to say happy father's day, it just got fucked up…_

But Dan doesn't text Adrian any of that.

Instead, he reopens the Twitter app again, and then Tumblr, and then Safari, and cycles between them for hours, until finally he falls asleep in the grey light of dawn, still sitting up in bed, his phone resting on his chest.

 

*

 

Dan wakes up a few hours later to the sound of Phil unzipping a duffle bag. He groans and covers his eyes.

"Hey," says Phil cheerfully. "My mum's making breakfast."

"Not hungry," Dan mumbles, closing his eyes again. "Stayed up all night."

"Okay, I'll just— All night?"

"Yes," Dan groans. "Go away."

"Okay," Phil says with a sigh. "Well, we'll save you a plate, alright? Dan?"

Dan doesn't answer. Eventually Phil leaves, and Dan falls back asleep.

 

*

 

The next thing he knows Phil is shaking him awake, this time saying something about pizza.

Dan shrugs away from Phil's hand, still half-asleep.

"Dan, we're going out for pizza," Phil repeats. "Mum, Martyn, and me. And you. Come on."

"Pizza?" Dan rubs his eyes. "Why?"

"Because. It's lunchtime. Come _on_ ," he says, shaking Dan again, "You didn't have breakfast. And plus, it's not just any pizza place; it's a _gourmet_ pizza place. All the hipsters are raving about it, apparently."

Dan hears a smile in Phil's voice, but he doesn't feel up to making a joke at the expense of hipsters right now. "Don't wanna go," he says, rolling over in bed.

" _Dan_ ," Phil whines. "Why not?"

"Tired."

Neither of them speaks for a few moments, although several times, Dan can hear Phil inhale as though he's gearing up to talk, only to immediately exhale in defeat, having presumably thought better of whatever he'd been planning to say.

"Alright," Phil says finally, running his fingers through Dan's hair. "Sleep well, okay? Feel better."

"Yeah," Dan mutters. "Have fun."

But he doesn't go back to sleep, and he doesn't feel better.

He lies there for a while, listening to the Lesters bustle around the house as they prepare to leave for lunch. He listens to people clomping up and down the stairs. He listens to Mrs Lester laughing.

Eventually they leave, and lies there a while longer, listening to his stomach rumbling.

Then he gets out of bed and goes downstairs to see if there's any leftover breakfast he can eat. On the way to the kitchen, he passes the dining table, and pauses.

There on the edge of the table are the three Father's Day cards that Mr Lester got last night. They're arranged in a nice little arc, with each card slightly open and standing upright.

Almost before he knows what he's doing, he picks up the card from Phil.

The front shows a cartoonish image of a tadpole and a frog. They're the same size, which is inaccurate, obviously, but since when do greeting cards care about accurate amphibian proportions? The greeting inside is "Hoppy Father's Day, Pop!"

It's such a terrible pun that Dan almost laughs.

Then, before he can help himself, his eyes travel down to Phil's handwritten message:

 

_Dear Dad,_

_HAPPY FATHER'S DAY! (Or "hoppy" lol) You've always been there for me, ever since I was a little kid, back when you'd come to all my silly school plays with Mum and sit in the front row with that giant video camera! ^_^ And now to this day you're always there for me and if I need advice or support or anything, I know I can always count on you. Martyn and I are so lucky to have you as a dad. I hope you have a wonderful day! Love you loads!_

_Love from,  
_ _Phil_

 

Dan stands there for a long time, frowning down at Phil's signature. The house seems very big and very silent.

And suddenly, he just feels like getting the hell away from these cards and this house and Phil's entire perfect fucking family. He'll go call his dad. No, he won't. That would be stupid. He'll walk to town. He'll buy a nice Father's Day card for his dad, and a nice blank card for his mum. He'll write nice things in them. He'll—

"Dan?"

Dan wheels around, Phil's card clutched to his chest. Mr Lester is standing at the foot of the stairs, holding a mug. He looks confused.

"Sorry," Dan stammers, "I'm a total creep, I know. I'm sorry." Then he laughs. Why the fuck would he laugh?

Mr Lester cocks his head to one side, and for a second he looks just like Phil.

Dan laughs again. "I'll just… go now," he says.

He starts for the front door, wilfully not meeting Mr Lester's eye.

Mr Lester stands there silently, watching him.

Then Dan remembers the card. "Shit," he says. "Sorry, um—" He returns to the table and attempts to prop the card up like it had been before, but it won't stay open. He tries again, but it topples over, and this time it falls to the floor and takes Martyn's card with it. Dan bends over, uncomfortably aware of the fact that his trousers are halfway down his arse and Mr Lester can probably see his boxers. He tries to remember which ones he's wearing. Why are his hands shaking so much? He's going to cry. No, he is crying.

Suddenly Mr Lester is kneeling beside him, picking the cards up off the floor, helping him up.

"Here, sit down, Dan," he says gently. Dan sits down mechanically at the table, and watches as Mr Lester sets the cards back up, apparently without any effort.

"Sorry for reading it," Dan blurts out. "I just had, like, a stroke or something and forgot it was rude to read other people's cards."

"It's alright. I don't mind." Mr Lester is looking at him funny, and Dan realises that it's probably obvious that he was crying. He ducks his head down and blinks a few times.

"I thought everyone went into town," Mr Lester says, joining Dan at the table. "Something about gourmet pizza?"

"Oh. Yeah. They did. Yeah, apparently there's some new restaurant everyone's talking about. Like all the hipsters or whatever."

"Right, that's what Martyn said." He frowns. _Why didn't you go with them?_ is what he wants to ask, Dan is sure, but he doesn't. Dan tells him anyway.

"I'm, er, basically a sloth in human form so I decided I'd rather nap. But then I woke up. So I came down here, and…" He shrugs.

"They invited me too," says Mr Lester, nodding. "But I've never much liked pizza."

"You don't like _pizza_?"

Mr Lester laughs. "Not much, no. But I do like fortune cookies. And earlier this week we got Chinese food, my wife and I, and the shop gave us about _twenty_ fortune cookies. I'm not exaggerating. So I was just sneaking down here to have some with my coffee." He stands up from his seat. "You're more than welcome to join me, if you'd like some too."

"Oh, it's fine. I'm still a bit tired, so I think I'll, um…" Just then Dan's stomach grumbles, and he remembers that he hasn't eaten yet today. "Actually, yeah, alright. Thanks," he says.

Mr Lester beams and heads into the kitchen. He returns with six fortune cookies, which he plunks down on the table. "Three for me, three for you," he says, resuming his seat. "We'll see who gets the best fortunes."

Dan stares at him. "Wait, you do the competition thing too? I thought Phil made it up."

"I taught that boy everything he knows," says Mr Lester, with a wink. "Ready then? Best two out of three. I'll go first."

With great ceremony, he breaks open his first cookie and withdraws the little slip of paper. "' _You are going to have some new clothes_ ,'" he reads aloud in an affectedly deep voice. "Well, isn't that nice."

"That's gonna be hard to beat," says Dan. He tears the plastic wrapper off one of his cookies and retrieves the fortune. He clears his throat dramatically, then reads: "' _If your desires are not to extravagant they will be granted_.' Only they spelled 'too' with just one 'O'."

"I think I win that round. Yours has a spelling mistake, and a condition. Mine just guarantees me new clothes."

"True."

The next round, they decide that Dan's " _The only people who never fail are those who never try_ " beats out Mr Lester's " _Swimming is easy. Stay floating is hard_."

"Alright then, this round decides it," says Mr Lester enthusiastically. "Let's open them on three, yes? One… two… three!"

They both pull out their fortunes.

Mr Lester lets out a snort of laughter. "Listen to this," he says. "' _Advice is like kissing. It costs nothing and is a pleasant thing to do._ '"

Dan doesn't respond. He reads his own fortune silently to himself: " _We make time for the things we love_ ," it says. He stares at the words until they start to blur before his eyes.

"Dan?"

Dan looks up. "What? Oh, sorry. You win," he says blinking rapidly.

"What does yours say?"

Dan just shakes his head. And scowls. And says, "God, I'm such a fucking piece of shit son." He says it angrily, not sadly. He's not crying. Except, fuck, he _is_ crying. He's blubbering like a fucking five-year-old, like when he was learning to ride a bike and he fell and started crying so hard that his grandfather had to kneel down beside him and tell him to grow up and pull himself together.

Mr Lester doesn't tell him to grow up. He just says his name in a soft voice and places a hand on his shoulder and looks at him with such genuine concern and tenderness that Dan lowers his eyes in embarrassment. He stares into his lap and sniffs few times and manages to get a grip on himself somewhat, but there's still snot under his nose and—

Dan feels the pressure on his shoulder vanish and realises that Mr Lester's hand is now offering him a napkin. He takes it gratefully, wipes his nose, and wads it into little wet ball. "Erm. Sorry."

Mr Lester shakes his head. "None of that," he says gently. "You've nothing to be sorry for."

"Yes, I do. I'm so fucking ungrateful," he explains, willing himself not to cry again. He squeezes on the crushed napkin in his hand. "I mean I'm always acting like a victim or something and being all… just holding grudges and stuff, and it's so stupid, because they—they don't deserve it. They're great parents." He glances up. "Like, I _swear_ , they're really great." It seems irrationally important to Dan that Mr Lester understand this. Luckily, he seems to. Well, he nods at least.

Dan goes on. "I think about all the things they've done for me and I just—They're really cool people; I'm the one who, like… I've just always been _so_ _fucking_ lazy…"

Mr Lester hands him another napkin and Dan becomes aware of the fact that he started crying again at some point.

"Thanks," he says weakly, taking the napkin and drying his eyes. "Sorry I keep… you know." He gestures vaguely toward his still-damp face.

"I told you, Dan, you don't need to apologise," Mr Lester says.

Dan swallows thickly. "God, I must sound like such a fucking twat, crying about this when there are kids who are actually getting, you know, like, abused, or neglected or whatever. Or who don't have any parents at all. And then there's _me_ , and I'm just—" He chuckles hollowly. "Like, I've got two parents who love me, and have always treated me and my brother great… like, seriously, they took us to India, and France, and they signed us up for music lessons, and they always had us sit down every night and eat dinner together as a family." Dan makes a half-hearted effort to dry his eyes with the shredded ball of wet napkin that he's been clutching in his fist, but he just ends up smearing snot on his cheek.

Mr Lester saves the day with a third napkin, and Dan quickly wipes his eyes and face. He takes a deep breath. "I dunno. I dunno what's wrong with me," he concludes. "Like, objectively I know that I should be grateful. But I'm… not? I'm such a shit son."

"Hmm," Mr Lester hums. "You don't _sound_ ungrateful. It sounds like you are in fact very grateful, for all the opportunities they gave you."

"Yeah, I mean, I guess," says Dan. "But, like, no matter what I do I can't help but resent them." He meets Mr Lester's eye. "That's bad, right? To resent them?"

Mr Lester takes a bite of one of his cookies and frowns. "Hm. No, I don't think it's bad. Not necessarily." He pauses, then adds, "Not if it's deserved."

"Yeah, but it's _not_ deserved," says Dan.

Mr Lester just nods thoughtfully. His eyes land on Dan's three uneaten fortune cookies. "I could put those in a bag for you, if you don't feel like them right now."

"No, I'm—I'll eat them, it's okay," Dan says quickly. He picks up a cookie and bites into it. It tastes like cardboard. He chews in silence.

He remembers the first time he had a proper dinner with the Lesters. It was early 2010. He'd visited Phil's house plenty of times before, of course, but he and Phil had always gone out to eat, or just ordered pizza or something. This time, Mrs Lester insisted they all eat together.

It wasn't a special occasion or anything, just a nice family dinner. Phil smiled like a little boy the whole time. His parents teased each other fondly. The food was delicious. No one got mad when Dan spilt salt all over the table.

At some point the conversation turned to YouTube, and Phil's parents started praising Phil's latest video, talking about how they'd laughed at some certain part.

It was all very foreign to Dan.

He'd told his parents about his YouTube channel a couple months before, at Christmastime, right after hitting 10,000 subs. They'd taken the news well enough. And they seemed basically supportive of him having YouTube as a hobby, as long as he still planned to go to uni the next year and continued to revise for psychology and everything. But they certainly weren't _enthusiastic_ about it. They'd never, ever expressed any interest in actually _watching_ _his videos_. And that was fine, he remembers telling himself. Completely fine.

And maybe it _had_ been fine, up until that night.

But as he sat there listening to the Lesters gush about Phil, Dan couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. Which was strange, because it wasn't as though Dan wished his parents watched his videos the way the Lesters watched Phil's. Dan didn't _want_ his parents to watch his videos. His videos were embarrassing as hell. And yet for some reason, the idea of Phil's parents being so supportive and happy and proud of their son made Dan feel like crap.

Eventually the subject changed, and Mrs Lester brought out cake for dessert, and Phil held Dan's hand under the table, and Dan forgot all about the YouTube conversation.

Except, he didn't actually forget. Because he still thinks about that night from time to time, even now, five years later.

"I'm going to make myself some more coffee," announces Mr Lester. Dan looks up with a start and clenches his fist in surprise, inadvertently crushing the cookie he'd been holding.

"Sorry," he says automatically, as though the cookie could feel pain. Now he's got a broken cookie in one hand and a ball of snot-filled napkins in the other. Lovely.

Mr Lester pats him on the shoulder and heads into the kitchen.

Dan puts the napkins and the cookie fragments down on the table, then picks up another cookie. He doesn't try to eat this one, just begins to break off tiny pieces and place them on the plate.

"They were always busy," he says, more to himself than to Mr Lester, though he knows Mr Lester is listening. "My parents. And like, when I was a kid I felt like I got it, you know? Like, I had to get up every day, and go to school, and go to drama, and come home, and have piano lessons, and do my homework. And if my friend wanted to hang out and I couldn't it was like, no, sorry, I'm _busy_. And I couldn't control it, because I was just a kid. Like, if I was busy I was busy, you know what I mean?" By this point he's reduced the entire cookie to tiny broken shards. "But then the older I got, the more I realised that like, once you're an adult you actually get to _choose_ how to spend your time. And like, you can prioritise things, you know? And… and it's like my stupid fucking fortune says." He snatches up the fortune and glares at it, then reads out: "' _We make time for the things we love._ '"

Mr Lester sits back down at the table, and Dan can feel him staring at him, but he doesn't look up. He keeps talking.

"Like… like, when I was little, they'd… I dunno. Just, like, sometimes I'd ask them to play with me or whatever and they'd be like, why don't you go watch TV? Or like, I'd want to draw or something but they'd be like, oh, we just cleaned the table, we don't really want you making a mess, why don't you go watch fucking TV? And like—" He pauses, and remembers what Phil wrote in his card about Mr Lester filming him in his silly childhood plays. He takes a deep breath. "Um, I played Benvolio. In _Romeo and Juliet_ during Year 9. And like, my parents didn't come see it. We did three shows, three nights in a row. They didn't come to any of them, because they were _busy_ , and, like, they knew my grandparents were coming or whatever, so like, why should _they_ come too? And like, I'm sure if I'd told them I really wanted them to come and it was really important to me, then, like, they probably would have come. And my grandparents were there, so it's not like I had no one in the audience for me." He sighs. "I dunno. I'm sorry, this is stupid. I dunno why I'm even telling you this."

Mr Lester's coffee finishes brewing. He doesn't get up. He clears his throat. "I presume that wasn't the only time they did that sort of thing?"

Dan shrugs. "I mean, I was in drama. I did a lot of plays. They came to most of them. Almost all of them. It wasn't a big deal. They're actually really good parents; like they call me, and they send me cards for my birthday, and they think it's cool that I do YouTube and stuff." He laughs weakly. "I dunno what I'm on about, honestly. Please just ignore me."

"Families are complicated," Mr Lester says, drumming his fingers on the table. "All parents let their children down in one way or another. It's perfectly alright to acknowledge your parents' failings. It's alright to resent them, too," he adds.

Dan nods mechanically, but deep down he knows it's not that simple. Because on some level it feels good to be bitter. It feels good to shade his parents in liveshows. It feels good to ignore his mum when she calls. It feels good to buy his dad a crappy gift for Father's Day.

But then, sooner or later, it always stops feeling good, and he just ends up feeling like shit. Because he doesn't _want_ to resent his parents. He doesn't _want_ them to have failings. But he does, and they do, and it's not fair. And he doesn't know how to fix it.

"Not all children have a close relationship with their parents," Mr Lester continues, "and, you know… that's alright."

"Yeah, I know it's _alright_ ," Dan mutters. "It's just… kind of shitty. I mean. They're my parents."

Mr Lester nods. "Have you talked to them about this?"

Dan snorts. "No. Not really. We don't generally discuss things more complex than like… the weather." At least not without the conversation deteriorating into some sort of argument.

"Well," says Mr Lester, "you might find out that they feel the same. About wanting a closer relationship. They may just not know how to go about expressing it."

Dan shrugs.

Mr Lester goes on. "It's hard if you feel like you're the only one making any effort in a relationship, but it doesn't have to be anything fancy. Just give 'em a ring, tell them what you've been up to. Who knows, you might be pleasantly surprised."

"Yeah, or we might just end up shouting at each other."

"All you can do it try. If they don't reciprocate, it's their loss."

Dan doesn't say anything, just nods for like the millionth time and goes on fiddling absently with the fortune in his hands, folding it and unfolding it, rolling it up and unrolling it.

"Dan?" Mr Lester says gently. Dan looks up, and meets Mr Lester's eyes, and somehow he just _knows_ that if he were actually Mr Lester's son, now would be the point in the conversation where he would be given a warm fatherly hug.

But instead, Mr Lester just stands up and squeezes his shoulder. "I guess I'm gonna get that coffee," he announces. He goes into the kitchen.

"Right, yeah," says Dan, nodding to himself. "Yeah."

He smooths out the fortune as well as he can, and sets it on the table. Then he picks up the third cookie, the only one he managed not to destroy, and pops it in his mouth.

This one doesn't taste like cardboard.

 

*

 

Dan and Mr Lester are still seated at the dining table when the rest of the family returns home from their pizza outing.  Mrs Lester disappears into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Martyn plops down in a chair across from his dad and launches into a dissertation on the relative merit of various pizza toppings. Phil sits down next to Dan. 

Dan watches as Phil's eyes travel over the wadded-up napkins and broken cookie pieces strewn across the table. When he finally lifts his gaze to Dan, his expression is a strange mix of curiosity and shrewdness.

“What happened?” he whispers.

“Tell you later,” mumbles Dan, but somehow he’s pretty sure that Phil already knows.

 

*

 

Their flight back to London departs that evening at 5pm, so there are still a few hours before they have to leave for the airport. Mrs Lester makes Dan a sandwich for lunch, and then everyone heads to the lounge for a game of Monopoly, though they eventually get caught up in talking and sort of abandon the game. It's a good conversation. It's a fun conversation. It's a warm, loving conversation.

At one point, in a moment of sudden boldness, Dan pulls out his phone and texts his mum.

 

_**From: Dan** _

hey, so dad probably told you what happened yesterday. i just wanted to tell you and him that i'm really sorry about it, and i was thinking maybe we could skype tonight, like the three of us if that's okay.

let me know.

 

He presses "Send" and settles back into the conversation, feeling strangely optimistic.

They discuss all manner of topics: YouTube and gardens and books and friends and travelling and dogs and embarrassing stories about Phil and Martyn as children. They all laugh a lot. It's fun. It's nice. Everyone is happy.

Dan's phone buzzes with his mum's reply.

 

_**From: Mum** _

Busy tonight love. Sorry xx

 

That's okay, Dan tells himself. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and ignores the stupid heavy feeling that starts to settle in his chest.

The Lesters go on talking, and laughing, and Dan laughs along with them. Because he's fine. He's happy. He's with Phil. He's with Phil's family.

 _Are they really busy the whole entire night?_ says a small voice in Dan's head. Dan ignores it.

 _She didn't even ask what time you had in mind_ , says the voice. And Dan ignores it.

 _She didn't bother suggesting another day or anything_ , says the voice, and still Dan ignores it.

 _We make time for the things we love_ , says the voice. And Dan tries to ignore it, but suddenly the heavy feeling in his chest seems to grow unbearably heavier, and he presses his lips together, and feels a lump forming in his throat, and—

"Well. I suppose you boys had better start packing," Mrs Lester announces, glancing at her watch. "It's nearly time for you to leave." She looks from Phil's face to Dan's, and smiles fondly. "It's been _so_ lovely having you."

The heavy feeling kind of goes away, and Dan takes a deep breath. It's okay. He's okay. He and Phil go and pack their bags.

 

*

 

Just before they head out to the airport, Mr Lester disappears into the kitchen. When he returns a few moments later, he is holding a small cardboard box.

"Two fortune cookies," he explains, shaking the box so that the cookies rattle around inside. "In case you get hungry on the plane. Planes always make me hungry."

They all laugh. He hands the box to Phil, who carefully puts it in his backpack.

Hugs are exchanged, and goodbyes, and thank yous.

And with that, they leave Phil's parents' house, and even though Dan knows that fortunes are a load of rubbish, he can't help but think to himself how glad he is that he listened when the fortune cookie gods encouraged him to go.

 

*

 

Somehow, they manage to arrive at the airport, get through security, and sit down at the gate without running into any subscribers. Dan is glad, honestly, as he's starting to feel a bit shit again, and anyone they met would probably be left with the impression that he hated them or something.

There's still half an hour to kill before their plane leaves, so Dan pulls out his phone. Probably against his better judgement, he decides to text Adrian.

 

_**From: Dan** _

hey are mum and dad home and/or are they busy tonight?

 

_**From: Adrian** _

Yeah they're home

 

_**From: Dan** _

but will they be busy tonight?

 

**_From: Adrian_ **

No? I don’t think they have plans or anything

Why?

 

_**From: Dan** _

nothing

don't tell them i asked

 

_**From: Adrian** _

Yeah whatever

You're ok though right?

 

_**From: Dan** _

lol i'm fine

 

But he's not fine. He's not fine at all.

 

*

 

Phil, of course, can tell that he's not fine. He can always tell.

By the time they board the plane, Phil has asked Dan what's wrong five times. And five times, Dan has replied, "Nothing."

They take their seats. Dan glances at Phil, who gives him a tiny smile. He doesn't say anything, but Dan can read a sixth _what's wrong?_ written in his eyes.

And this time, Dan tells him. "I texted my mum," he says, staring into his lap. "When we were playing Monopoly. To apologise, you know, for the thing with my dad, on the phone. And I asked if I could Skype them tonight. Like, Skype her and my dad. And she responded and said sorry, they're busy. And I was like, okay, cool, whatever. But then I asked Adrian and… he said they're not actually busy."

"Oh," says Phil, and Dan can tell he doesn't really know what else to say. "Maybe they _are_ busy, and they just didn't tell Adrian?" he suggests finally.

"Yeah, maybe," Dan says, turning to look out the plane window. It's okay. Phil doesn't understand and Dan doesn't know how to explain.

"Hey," Phil says softly, nudging his chin against Dan's back. "Let's eat those fortune cookies. The ones my dad gave us for the flight."

Dan sighs, but agrees. Phil digs around in his backpack and produces the box of cookies. He hands one to Dan and keeps the other for himself.

"Okay, we open on three. May the best fortune win," he recites. "One… two… three!"

Dan dutifully breaks open his cookie and pulls out the slip of paper: _Your home is the center of great love._

"It says, ' _You like Chinese food_ ,'" Phil reads aloud from his own fortune. He wrinkles his nose. "I think I'm gonna need to have a little chat with the fortune cookie gods about this one. They're getting lazy."

"Yeah, and tell them they need to be more careful too, because they mixed us up," Dan says hollowly. "Pretty sure my fortune is actually supposed to be for you."

Phil laughs. "Why, what's it say?"

Dan just passes his fortune to Phil, who reads it, frowning. Dan looks back out the window.

"How come you don't think this is meant for you?" Phil asks softly.

"Are you fucking serious?" snaps Dan, turning away from the plane window to face Phil. "' _Your home is the center of great love_ '? That's _you_. Your house is like the _definition_ of _love_. And _family_. And all that… all that sort of stuff."

Phil cocks his head to one side. "You mean my parents' house?"

"Er. Yeah?"

"But, it doesn't say 'parents' house,'" Phil points out. "It says 'home.' And… we're on our way _home_ right now. Aren't we?" He pauses. "The flat in London, that's our home."

 _You're my home_ , Dan doesn't say.

Phil smiles, and holds out the tiny slip of paper. Dan takes it with trembling fingers and reads it to himself again, so overwhelmed with emotion that he can hardly breathe.

"Besides," Phil adds, his eyes twinkling, "I like Chinese food _much_ more than you do. I _think_ fortune cookie gods would know that fact."

Dan laughs, and suddenly he's laughing and crying at the same time, and Phil scoots a little closer to him and takes his hand, and right now Dan doesn't even give a fuck that they're in public. He leans into him.

"You win, by the way," says Phil. "Your fortune."

Dan nuzzles into Phil's shoulder. "Then you win too, because it's _our_ home."

"Yeah," Phil says. "You're right. I guess it's a tie."

 

*

 

When they finally get home that night, Dan tapes the stupid fortune to the back of his laptop, right under the glowing apple.

His viewers will probably notice it during tomorrow's liveshow, probably enlarge it, and read it, and go crazy saying it proves Phan is real and all that.

Dan doesn't care, to be honest.

He's home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated! <3
> 
> You can also read this story on my [Tumblr](http://oqua12.tumblr.com/post/147841531274/fortune-cookies), and please feel free to hmu there or on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/oqua12)! :)
> 
> Also, here, have [this adorable photo of Phil's parents plus Dan & Phil on an iPad screen](https://scontent-iad3-1.cdninstagram.com/t51.2885-15/e15/10584733_281872908664811_140093132_n.jpg?ig_cache_key=Nzc5MDUyNTQ0NDMyOTM4OTYw.2), because it is basically the sweetest thing ever


End file.
